One of the things about walking the highways and byways of Edinburgh, and sitting in hot, airless boxes watching people you love to pieces perform their shows, is that it can dry out your nasal passages.
Where once there were moist mucus linings to capture particulates there are, in their stead, hardened, crusty lumps of mucosal material. Bogies, to give them their most popular name.
Bogies which make your nose itch, or feel weird. Or whatever.
The other day, we were in the Pleasance Dome, enjoying a rest betwixt two shows. I saw a man of similar stature to me which answered the oft-wondered question of what I would look like if I happened to be ginger. And more into tracksuits.
But it was during this rest that my itchy nose became apparent.
A woman was making a Facetime call to her friends. Giving them a tour of the Dome from a peculiar angele. Here, the door to the toilets. There, the steps which Christopher Biggins has just gone down sideways, like a crab, the result of something leg-based which sees him walk with a stick.
And here, behind all that, is me.
In full view of the phone. And thus everyone at the other end of the call.
Just picking my nose. Or, ar best, rearranging and trying to dislodge accumulated nose detritus.
I should have waved.